


In Time

by AlliKyttn



Series: In Time [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlliKyttn/pseuds/AlliKyttn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindal has waited thousands of years for the birth of his mate. Helping the boy survive to adulthood was now his priority. This story provides both the backstory and continuation for 'In Perfect Trust'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Request & the Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Lord of the Rings, not Harry Potter and make no money from either fandom.  
> Notes: I'm relying on an elvish dictionary for translations. As requested, I will be providing translations throughout the fic rather than at the bottom of the page. This story uses Quenyan and Sindarin/Noldorin elvish.  
> A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I appreciate any and all feedback that will improve my stories for you. I will be seeing this through and will post as often has possible. ;)  
> ~ Alli

 

**Prologue – The request**

He was sitting on a stone bench under the warm light of _Anor_ [sun] studying one of his medical texts and looking into a cure for orcish poison when his seneschal found him. Elrond had sensed turmoil within Glorfindel ó Gondolin recently, but had waited for the ancient elf to come to him.

The Lord of Imladris turned a page absently while mentally pondering his _mellon_ [friend]. Though Glorfindel kept to himself more than most elves, Elrond heeded any words that came from the other elder. There had been much in Glorfindel's long life that had made him thus and the _peredhil_ [half-elf] lord did not begrudge him his cautious and protective nature.

When his _mellon_ [friend] reached his side, the Balrog Slayer got down on bended knee and bowed his head. Elrond half-raised an eyebrow and wondered what action he had performed to have earned such treatment. “ _Hîr nín_ ,” came the respectful greeting [my lord].

Now Elrond was deeply intrigued, though only one who knew him well would see more then a slight curiosity. “You have not spoken to me thus in an age, _mellonamin_ [my friend], and only then did you wish something of me.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice and he was aware that Glorfindel would have taken note, though his friend still did not take his gaze from the stone beneath their feet, and nor did he rise from bended knee.

When the other elf maintained his silence, Elrond sighed, “Oh do get up, _pen-thorn_ [loyal/steadfast one]. Nothing you ask of me can be great enough to demand the legendary Glorfindel ó Gondolin be on his knees before me.”

Still the golden-haired warrior did not rise. He did, however, speak. “I would ask to seek _post_ [pause/halt] in my obligation to the line of my king for a period of five years.”

 _That_ was unexpected. The Lord of Imladris slowly closed his book and placed it on the stone bench next to him. “It is with no small wonder and regret that I cannot do this for you, Glorfindel. Your vow was given to the _Valar_ , not I. This is something that I am unable to grant you.”

It did not seem to come as a surprise to the Eldar, who appeared to not be put off in the slightest. “I am aware, _hîr nín_ [my lord], and so I ask for your blessing and your aid in seeking thus from the _Valar_.”

“This is not an action to take lightly, Glorfindel,” Elrond reminded him gently, though he knew this request could not have been easy, nor would it be something done on a whim.

“I do not do this lightly, _mellonamin_ ,” he spoke with determination [my friend]. “I have always been true to my vow and to ask this now causes me no small measure of pain.”

Elrond reached out and placed his fingers beneath Glorfindel's chin and encouraged him to meet his gaze. “Tell me then, _satarnya_ [my loyal companion – Q], why you seek to be free of your vow now.”

“There is a babe,” he informed Elrond. “That I would see to.”

The _peredhil_ [half-elf] blinked. A _hên_ [child]? Surely he did not mean to say...

 

**Chapter One – The Tale**

Glorfindel stepped into his rooms and removed his sword and belt to sink deep into his lounging chair with a heartfelt sigh. He had not been so grateful upon his return to Imladris as he had been that night. Lethargy had indeed shadowed his steps for the last several hours of his patrol.

He and his elven warriors had been tracking a large band of orcs for the last several days. They had been drawing nearer when last evening he had felt the need to return to Imladris. Though he would not normally leave his men to continue on without him, the _Valar_ had, in the past, often guided him in such a way as to signal a greater need for his presence, or more accurately his sword, elsewhere.

When Imladris was yet still far off in his sights, he'd begun to have difficultly keeping himself alert. The closer he drew to the beautiful city, the harder was his battle to stay on his horse and keep his eyes open. It was no small measure of luck that had seen clear his path to his rooms, where he was currently considering the attempt to move himself to his inviting bed.

It was only a handful of steps between where he was sunk into his chair and his – more comfortable – bed. When he had taken possession of his rooms he had not wanted any visual or physical barriers between his resting place and the entryway as a matter of safety and security. He did have a private wash room and reading area off to the side of this room, but it was this main area that saw to most of his needs.

He eyed his bed again, but could not help his heavy eyelids fluttering shut. He had a passing thought that this lethargy was unnatural before promising himself that he would only close his eyes for but a moment...

* * *

“Merlin, James!! Would you...put...that...down!” came the exasperated command from a redhead human.

Glorfindel looked at the scene before him with no small measure of confusion. The female seemed to be speaking Westron, but it sounded strange to his ears for some reason. 

A dark-haired man, possibly 'James', rushed to her side, picking her up in strong arms and spinning her around in circles even while she started banging her palms against his shoulders. “But Lily-flower, our little petal is going to need her very own tea set AND a broom so that she can have a nice cuppa after a long, victorious Quidditch match!”

“Put me DOWN, you goof!” laughed the woman, whose name seemed to be Lily-flower. “Our little BUG, is not going to be playing Quidditch, nor is he going to be having tea with anyone for a number of years yet. At least let me get through his birth before you start planning out everything he is going to do until the end of time, James.”

With a melodramatic sigh, James put down Lily-flower before getting down on his knees and speaking to her stomach. “It's alright, love. You'll be daddy's little petal, won't you? I'm man enough to have tea parties with you, and I'll bet mummy will join in, too, once you come out and show her what an adorable little GIRL you are!”

Lily-flower rolled her eyes at the man talking to her belly. “Technically, baby Potter is genderless for another few weeks, you know...”

James jumped up and smacked a quick kiss to her smiling lips. “She's a girl, love! And she will be just as stubborn and beautiful as her mum. You'll see,” he grinned at her again before moving about the room and picking up random items to look at and enthuse over.

While the two apparent parents-to-be looked at things while smiling and laughing together softly, Glorfindel took stock of the room they were in. There was a large window next to a door and he could see a number of people milling about on the other side. Behind him there was a counter of some sort that had different items sitting atop, seemingly on display. Several were recognisable as toys of some description as he spotted a row of little cloth dolls that looked much like ones he had seen in the markets in Gondor last time he had visited the land of men. 

There were a few other odds and ends that he recognised and likened the room to an indoor market stall. Several of the items that James and Lily-flower had picked up looked to be items one would have for a child, so he reasoned that this must be a market seller that made items for newborns and young ones. This continued for quite a time. The couple seemed to pause at every little thing the seller had to offer.

He wondered why he had been brought to this place, for it was like no other that he had come across in Middle-Earth. Glorfindel was aware that he was dreaming and so determined that the _Valar_ had need to show him something. He watched the expectant parents as no others browsing the indoor market stall held his attention. The warrior followed the couple as they exchanged gold and other strange metal coins for their chosen items and left through the front door.

It was a strange market. The stalls were all in large rooms or buildings rather than the carts and covered areas that he was familiar with. People littered the stone path, stopping every now and then to look at items that were on display or to talk to their companions and others that crossed their path. The cloth that covered their bodies was not unlike that of the Istari, he noticed. Long, flowing robes that covered them head to toe and some were even wearing pointed caps, much like the type Mithrandir was so fond of.

Glorfindel quickened his pace, as he had been so caught up with the unfamiliar that he had almost let James and Lily-flower out of his sight. Once he got closer he could hear their conversation again. “...Gringott's Lils. I want to see if my _emya_ [mummy – Q] left anything in the vault.”

The Eldar sucked in a breath at the Quenyan word. Yes, this couple was definitely why he was here. He saw no evidence of any other peoples in this land of men, yet here was a man that used the ancient elven language so casually, albeit only in reference to the one that gave him life.

Lily-flower smiled at him sadly. “We can speak to the goblins about an accounting of the vault. It would be nice to include a little something of our families. I'm sure they're all watching us from wherever their souls are, James.”

James hugged her a little tighter to his side as they entered a large, stone building. “I hope so, Lils. _Emya_ [mummy] always said that our _fëa_ [spirit/soul] always knew those that were in our hearts, seeking them out when _Mandos_ released them.”

The redhead rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, deep in thought as she caressed her flat belly. “I hope that when that day comes we will know them, and can show them the newest member of our family.”

* * *

Glorfindel opened his eyes and groaned at the stiffness in his limbs and neck. He took a quick stock of his surroundings and realised _Anor's_ [sun] fingers had reached well into his rooms, indicating that it was late in the morning and he had indeed fallen asleep in his chair several hours earlier.

He rose from his chair and entered his reading area, sitting himself behind his desk and withdrawing some parchment and charcoal from a small wooden box. For awhile he sketched a portrait of the couple, James staring at Lily-flower, whom Glorfindel assumed was his _hervess_ [wife]. They were depicted as he had witnessed them in that final moment, her head resting on his shoulder, gently touching her womb while he looked down at her, love and sadness in his eyes.

It was both a beautiful and poignant moment. One that he was moved to capture before time dimmed the finer details. It was important, he knew, though not why. Not yet. It would come to him in time. Of this he was certain.

* * *

The pattern of sleeping and dreaming of this human couple continued for a number of days. In this time, he realised that for every day that passed on Middle-Earth, roughly four would pass in his dreams. There had been no more talk of James' _emya_ [mummy], but he had realised that this couple was not of the land of men, but of the Istari, or a close relation, thereof. They had not age, nor vast wisdom. They were simply people that were going about their daily lives and happened to wield magic as if it were as natural as the wind among the trees, as it seemed to be.

It was a definite possibility. During one of his 'dream walks', as he liked to call it, James and 'Lily', he'd come to know her as, were behind their dwelling and sitting on a wooden swing together, gazing at the stars. A quick glance at the darkened sky had shown him an unfamiliar array of the bright lights, informing the golden warrior that this was not any place on Middle-Earth.

He had no clue where they resided, nor what the _Valar_ wanted him to do, though since he was still dream-walking each night when his head touched his pillow, he reasoned that there was still more to learn of this strange land and this young couple. 

The only real information he had gleaned was that James was indeed elven. In the privacy of their home, his pointed ears were obvious. Some type of magics were shielding the tips from his gaze whenever James left the home, though.

It was mid-morning when Glorfindel entered yet another dream, having taken leave to rest shortly after dining with Elrond's twin _iôneth_ [sons], Elladan and Elrohir, for the evening meal.

Lily was standing in her bedroom, _Anor_ [sun] shining brightly into the room, her gaze intent upon the tall mirror before her. She was wearing only her undergarments, but Glorfindel hardly noticed this. Both their eyes were glued to the ever-so-slight roundness that was making itself known if one looked hard enough. Her face was alight with pleasure and a giddiness that she could not contain while she was her only witness, to her mind. “Hi baby,” she whispered. “Mummy loves you ever so much...”

Glorfindel's heart was in his throat as he stared at the almost non-existent bump. There was a deep thrum in the back of his mind that he hadn't felt before and what felt like a hand squeezing his heart until he thought it would explode in his chest. He could feel the child's _fea_ [soul/spirit]. He was, all of a sudden, aware of its presence and it was male, not female as James had spoken of so certainly.

What had his attention, though, was the familiarity of the _fea_ [soul/spirit], the warmth it radiated and the call that begged him closer. Realisation was swift then. This was his mate, the _fea_ [soul/spirit] that was gifted to him by the _Valar_ , finally, here in this strange place, begotten to this woman and her elven _hervenn_ [husband].

He stepped closer and reached out hesitantly. He moved to press his palm to where his _melmë_ [love] grew. He closed his eyes tight and clenched a fist, forcing down a painful stab of disappointment when his palm did not meet warm flesh. _The_ Valar _could not be so cruel as to grant me no way to this child_ , _yet torment me with visions of him,_ he thought to himself sadly. Not after so many millennia of waiting.

It was then that he felt a probing at his mind. There were no words he could glean, but instead he felt warmth and welcome...and acceptance. He nearly let out an undignified cry of relief. It was the _hên_ [child], he realised. The _fea_ [soul/spirit] was aware of him and would not allow Glorfindel to brook such torment. The Eldar did not understand how the unborn was able to feel his presence when no others had come to know of him. Even more curious was their ability to interact with one another in this way. There was much yet to understand, but Glorfindel had hope now that this would not be all to their relationship.

He had returned from death, after all. Surely a little barrier between worlds would be no problem for them in the future.

* * *

It was pure luck that when his patrol returned from their orc hunting Elrond ordered them to stay within the borders of Imladris for a time. Glorfindel's warriors were the best of their forces and so were often kept away from the Last Homely House, busy tracking and fighting orcs and goblins that threatened their borders and beyond.

Elladan and Elrohir had instead taken control of a team of elves to ambush a large contingent of the dark creatures that seemed to be settling in the lands just north and east of Imladris, leaving Glorfindel and his warriors to keep the borders under control. This meant that Glorfindel would be able to sleep peacefully in his own rooms at night for an undetermined period, for which he was grateful. It would not do to be so deep in dreams out on patrol when he did not know if his people would be able to awaken him should they have need.

Lily was several months along now and James was doting on her. Her pregnancy was obvious to all and neither parent could stop talking to and caressing her womb where his mate grew. They were beautiful to watch, their love for the babe radiating from them. This would be a happy family, he decided, though darkness loomed over them. His _Valar_ -granted powers made him very intuitive about some things, though he could see their future.

It was hard for Glorfindel to stop himself from taking short rests during days when he was within Imladris' walls, just to see how they were getting along. He and the elfling were bonding, much to his delight. When he fell to his dreams, the elfling would flood him with warmth as if in greeting. It never failed to comfort, no matter how the day had treated him. Glorfindel would sometimes talk to the _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit – Q] in the same way he had seen James, Lily and one or two of their friends do. He could tell that the babe enjoyed it.

Seemingly, Lily also had a deep connection to her _hên_ [child]. She could feel the flood of warmth whenever he greeted a loved one. This seemed to be reserved for his parents, Glorfindel and one other, the closest _mellon_ [friend] of his _adar_ [father], Sirius. It often confused Lily, the random bursts of warmth she felt when it was Glorfindel's turn to receive a greeting, but she seemed to just accept that her child was happy and continued about her day.

Glorfindel was in the training area, sparring with one of his warriors when coldness washed over him. He quickly ended the match and bowed to his opponent. “ _Teilien bain_ [fair sport], Lentirn,” he complimented before returning to his rooms with every intent of seeking rest.

When he appeared in his dream state, he immediately drew back and reached for his sword. It was a natural reaction to the fighting that was taking place around him in the darkened night, but one that would do him no good since he was not carrying a weapon, nor could he physically interact with the Istari around him.

And so he was forced to watch the events play out as Lily, James and a large number of their comrades commanded their fierce magics against unknown opponents who were also of the Istari, but cloaked in black, with hideous white coverings disguising their visage from view. Glorfindel did not understand what was going on. Nothing about any of his previous dream-walks had told him of war, but when he thought back, he realised that he had often heard James, Lily and others talking in hushed, sometimes urgent tones, yet he had been too engrossed in the _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit – Q] to take much notice.

He was struggling to take note of everything now, as his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit – Q] was radiating fear and discomfort. Glorfindel could only imagine how this was troubling Lily as she darted around people, taking well-aimed shots with her wand at the dark Istari. As an unnoticed spectator, the golden-haired warrior saw one of the dark Istari following Lily's progress on the battle field. It was with no small amount of fear that he realised that this night would end with her death if she did not notice the dark one.

In his life he had not once stood by when another was in danger. Though he could do nothing, his steps still took him to her side, eyes still trailing the dark Istar, willing Lily or her comrades to see the increasing danger. And when the danger raised a wand in her direction, it was fierce denial and force of will that powered a determined, “No!” from his throat as he stepped between Lily, his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit – Q] and the dark Istar.

A shot of coloured light spewed from the tip of the wand, only to be met with a strong barrier of blue light that emanated from Lily. She had felt something behind her and had turned too late to cast a counter to the nasty cutting curse that was aimed her way, but no one was more surprised than her when a shield prevented her chest from being torn to pieces. 

The redhead quickly fired an _expelliarmus_ [disarming charm] and _petrificus totalis_ [freezing/body binding spell] at her attacker and looked around for her protector. There were none that were not already busy with their own opponents. It was when she was flooded with warmth from her child that she had an inkling that the shield was her own...or rather her baby's.

The look that passed over her face and the quick caress of her rounded belly told Glorfindel of her suspicions. He sucked in a breath and watched her quickly jump back into battle, more attentive this time. He was overtaken with suspicions of his own at that moment. The magics could easily have come from the child, but Glorfindel wondered which of them had been wielding it, the _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit]...or him? 

* * *

It was with great joy and a small measure of discomfort that he was able to witness the birth of his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit].

“Bloody hell, James,” came Sirius' chiding chuckle. “Would you calm down! Anyone would think you were the one having the little prongslet.”

“She was _screaming_ Siri!” was the panicked reply through the door. “Childbirth is meant to be a beautiful experience. This does _not_ sound beautiful...”

The expectant father had apparently been kicked out of the birthing room where his wife was panting and sweating. He had been hurling verbal threats at the healers who were attending his wife when her pain had become too much for him to witness quietly.

“I don't think the beautiful part comes until after the pain, James,” he heard Sirius inform his friend, indulgence in his tone.

Glorfindel scoffed at the young elf and his human friend with a short laugh. Lily was handling things much better than her _hervenn_ [husband]. There were a few Istari other than Sirius keeping James company, he knew, but the golden-haired warrior could not see or hear enough to identify them. His gaze was drawn back to the back of the room where Lily was gripping the sides of the hospital bed, biting her lip around a pained moan.

His gaze avoided her partially covered nether regions, instead concentrating on the words of encouragement the healer was expressing at her progress. “There now, Mrs Potter. Not long to go now. We should see a head soon,” the older woman smiled.

He winced at the glare that Lily sent the healer's way. “Soon?!? I've been at this for hours already! I will be having this child in the next hour, or so help me, Merlin, I will _accio_ [summoning charm] it out. _James Potter!_ You get in here right now and help me have this child!”

Her _hervenn_ [husband] rushed through the doors on command, obviously not willing to upset the fiery redhead further that day. “Not long to go now, hey Lils?” he chuckled nervously.

She reached over and punched him in the nose for his efforts.

* * *

In the weeks following his _fëa pia's_ [little soul/spirit] birth, Glorfindel spent his dream-walking time at the elfling's side. 'Harry' his parents had named him, _ruler of the home_ he had heard Lily tell James. In elvish, it was _Marcaunon_ , a much more fitting name for an elf and it was how he referred to the babe when they spoke.

To be more accurate, Glorfindel spoke and Marcaunon listened and emoted. Their link, developed in the womb, was cemented upon his birth. When Lily was sleeping and the babe would awaken, disoriented and disconcerted by the darkness, Glorfindel's presence at his side would settle him quickly. Only need for nourishment would bring forth the demanding cries of a hungry elfling to awaken his _emya_ [mummy].

Lily was home, more often than not, caring for the new born Marcaunon. It seemed that the war was raging outside their home, he had gleaned from many of their mealtime conversations, and James went out each day in his robes, sometimes to return spotted with blood and always with a heavy heart. His first move was always to the washroom, where he would bathe and redress, clean and unblemished to greet his _hervess_ [wife] and his _iôn_ [son], the worries of the day put away in favour of spending time basking in the love of his family.

“Sweet Merlin...Lily! Come here, quick,” James called his wife into the living area where he was laying on the floor next to where his son was an arm into the air. “Harry's smiling at me!”

Lily stopped in the doorway and looked over to her son, who was indeed smiling at James. “Oh, you're such a good baby, Harry!” she laughed and rushed back out of the room, to retrieve her 'camera', Glorfindel assumed.

Sure enough, she was holding the strange device when she returned and started clicking away. They produced life-like moving images he had discovered the other day and was very intrigued by many of the things that were commonplace in this world.

Little Marcaunon was very secure in his place of ruler of the home, Glorfindel mused. The home was almost a little getaway from the troubles outside. Marcaunon was aware of none of it, such was the feeling of love and caring within. Yes, they were a very happy family, he was glad to note each day.

* * *

There was gossip circulating Imladris. It was said that Glorfindel ó Gondolin was not of himself.

The legendary elf was seen on his patrols and at meals, but was scarce from the halls at all other times. It had taken a number of months for anyone to notice, given how often the great Balrog Slayer was out on patrols and in the training hall and field. But it had not been the normal gossips among the kitchen staff to spread the tale, but the warriors instead.

It was not out of the norm for the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower to be preoccupied, nor was it strange that he did not keep the company of others when he was about the halls of the Last Homely House. The only real meat for their wagging tongues was the elf's sudden fondness for his bed and the content smile that played about his lips at random throughout the day. It was a slow time for the gossipers, with nothing better to talk about than the seneschal's resting habits.

No one truly believed that he had found himself a bed-mate, for such lustful goings on were beyond elves of Glorfindel's nature. The whispers were soon forgotten though, when one of the patrols came back from a victorious orc hunt with many wounded and all attention was back where it should be.

All except for Glorfindel. The gossips had been partially right, after all. He was abnormally preoccupied with a tiny elfling that would one day become his _venno_ [husband – Q]. But right now, the _pen-neth_ [young one] was still but a babe, suckling at his _naneth's_ [mother] breast.

That night brought more for him to smile about. Lily and James were laying on their bed, Marcaunon sitting on his covered bottom between them. The couple were trying to encourage the _hên's_ [child] first decipherable word. Marcaunon squealed happily when James blew raspberries against his uncovered tummy. “Say dada, Harry! Come on,” he encouraged with a laugh at his son.

Lily was not to be outdone by her husband, “Who loves you best, Harry? Mummy does, baby! Say mama,” she sounded out the words for him, though he was having none of it.

Marcaunon bounced on his bottom, enjoying the way the bed moved when he did. He clapped his hands like his _emya_ [mummy] taught him and shouted out, “Fin!” as the Balrog Slayer appeared to him and held his arms up, wanting a cuddle.

Glorfindel blinked at the greeting before a huge grin and a wave of love washed over him. “Is that me, _pen-neth_ [young one]?” he sat down at the end of the bed and Marcaunon crawled over to him, though he could not climb into his lap, not for lack of trying.

“Marcaunon grinned up at him with a toothy smile, “Fin!”

He dimly heard James whine at his _hervess_ [wife], “Li-ly! What's he calling a fin? He needs to say dada!”

None of it mattered to Glorfindel, though. His _fëa pia's_ [little soul/spirit] first word was his name. It should not have been surprising...Glorfindel had more free time to spend coaxing the child to say Glorfindel, after all.

* * *

Things would change, of course, as they were wont to do. It was a dark day when James came home, bringing an aging wizard with him. The elder Istar reminded him a bit of those he was familiar with from Middle-Earth in the way he carried himself and the low thrum of power that lay waiting just under the surface of his casual demeanour.

“Albus!” Lily greeted the Istar. “Oh dear, it's a bit of a mess in here, I'm afraid,” she said nervously looking around where Harry had been playing with his blocks.

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed. He could tell that her nervousness had nothing to do with what little mess had been made by Marcaunon's playtime. There was something coming that she was hoping to avoid. This Istar was the leader of their forces, he recalled easily. Many planning sessions he had witnessed back before Lily had given birth to Marcaunon. 

He had great respect for the Istar's leadership and understood many of the decisions that had been made, though others often didn't. Lily was one of the few that could follow the wizard's strategies and reasoning.

“Good day to you, Lily,” the man nodded to her once with a sad smile. “And how is young Harry?” 

For a moment, the Istar glanced in the direction of the Eldar and sent him an almost imperceptible nod in greeting. Glorfindel bowed his head in return and turned his attention back to Marcaunon. He'd long since stopped wandering how it was that out of every magic-wielder in that realm that was not Marcaunon, only this Albus was able to see him.

“Harry has been madly building with his block today, and talking to the little figures and animals we got to go with them,” Lily answered, though smiling indulgently at her young son, now.

The Istar had approached Glorfindel many months ago after he had 'popped in' on one of their war planning sessions. The warrior had not realised he'd had an audience as he greeted his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] until Albus had caught his eye when the others were later mingling and indicated for him to follow the Istar out of the room.

He had been greatly surprised to realise that the babe was not the only one aware of his presence. “You are here for the child,” he stated harshly.

 _Yes_ , Glorfindel responded with a nod.

“Ah,” came Albus's acknowledgement. “I can see you, but am unable to hear you. This could prove interesting. We shall keep to simple answers then. Are you a guiding spirit?”

Glorfindel thought about it for a moment, but discarded the idea and shook his head, holding his fist to his heart.

Albus took note. “A protector then,” he deduced, at which Glorfindel paused, then nodded once, but placed an open hand over his heart. 

The gesture was understood. “I see. We live in dangerous times. Something has drawn you here and I sense no ill intent from you,” the Istar informed him and glanced at the pointed tip of one of his ears. “We have not seen high elves in our world for many centuries. Are you able to help us in any way?”

Glorfindel sighed sadly before shaking his head. _No._

“I cannot guarantee any of their safety,” was Albus' regretful statement. “Do you know of the Dark Lord Voldemort that plagues us?”

Again, Glorfindel shook his head. “He is a wizard like us, but one born of an unstable witch and her muggle, non-magical, husband. I made a great many number of mistakes when Voldemort came to train at our school, the least of which was no interfering when it became obvious the dark path he had chosen to walk with many of his school acquaintances,” Albus's tone was sad and wistful.

“The child is your soul-keeper, if I am not mistaken,” he continued. 

Glofindel's radiant smile brought an upward tilt to the Istar's lips. “Yes...I will do what I can to protect Lily. I give you my word. I only hope that it is enough,” he trailed off. and returned to his people.

The Balrog Slayer came back to the present when Marcaunon gave a loud shriek of happiness as Albus levitated him up in the air and into his waiting arms. “Ba!” he greeted the Istar.

James' strained face gave way to an indulgent look towards his son. “That's right, Harry. Albus is here.”

“Is it time, Albus?” Lily asked so quietly that Glorfindel strained to hear her.

“I'm afraid it is, Lily, James,” was his answer, though he looked at Glorfindel. “I ask that you cast the _fidelius_ [secrecy/hiding charm] around this house tomorrow night. Choose someone you trust to hold the secret. Lily, as you are most familiar with the spell and will also be sheltered here, I would ask that you cast it. This way there is one less vulnerability as with your death, the charm will fail.”

The young couple nodded their acceptance with a sad look to their son who was playing with Albus' long, white beard.

* * *

They had chosen the rat to guard their secret. Glorfindel worried at this, never having been able to trust the one named Peter from the moment he discovered the man's ability to shape-shift into the form of a rodent. Marcaunon had not taken to him the same way that he had Sirius, Remus and the couple's other friends. He could not discount that it had something to do with Glorfindel's dislike of the young Istar influencing him, so did not put much store in it.

The Eldar had known of the prophesy since just before Marcaunon's birth. Albus had come to the Potters one morning and had informed them of the interesting night he'd had when a witch had foretold of a child who would one day rid their land of Voldemort's evil. Marcaunon was one of two possible children that it could refer to. Being honest with himself, it was likely that his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] was the one spoken of. He could feel the heavy weight of destiny floating around him.

He would have much preferred James or Sirus guarding their secret, but could see their reasoning. James and Sirius were natural targets and were too headstrong to stay within the confines of the home for very long, their natures calling them to arms even against Lily's and Albus' better judgement.

There was still much happiness to be found in their home within the borders of Godric's Hollow, he was relieved to see. Lily spent her time teaching Marcaunon words in the tongue of their magic, Latin. She spoke to him of the grandparents that were watching over him and it was then that Glorfindel finally found out the name of James' _emya_ [mother – Q], Dorea, though he did not recognise it as an elvish name unless some poor soul had been named after land or dwelling. 

James and Sirius would return to the comfort of the protected home and play with Marcaunon until he fell into sleep. Telling him of their many, harmless, pranks that they played on people and sometimes retelling their version – child-friendly, of course – events from the day while a little winged ball that they called a snitch flew around their heads. The two men often caught Marcaunon's gaze following the winged ball and wondered between them if they had a seeker on their hands. He wasn't quite sure what they were referring to most of the time other than some type of sport played by their people, but he could admit that Marcaunon easily spotted that elusive ball even when the adults could not.

Yes, life within the walls of Lily and James' home was full of love, happiness and security.

That was, until the night the _fidelius_ [secrecy/hiding charm] failed. Until the night that Peter betrayed his friends to the one he now called Master...

* * *

There was a sense of urgency about him that day. He had been speaking with Elladan and Elrohir in the courtyard when panic gripped him. He excused himself hurriedly and rushed back toward his rooms and to his bed.

Marcaunon's terrified cries greeted him. He was gathered in Lily's arms as she ran up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom. Torn between going to Marcaunon's or the source of the danger, he hesitated for only a moment before he rushed down the stairs.

James was darting around the living room, dodging green light that was being shot at him by a dark-haired Istar, returning fire every so often. This was the Dark Lord Voldemort, he knew. And as one of the spells reflected off the hall mirror and hit him in the back, Glorfindel spared a thought for the young elf whose life had been so very short, but yet so full of life and love of his family.

There was nothing he could have done but witness the moment. He took the stairs three at a time, only moments ahead of the determined Istar. Walking through the closed door he saw Lily place her son into his crib and press a kiss to his brow, telling him not to be afraid...that he was loved. 

When the door exploded behind her, Lily was thrown against Marcaunon's crib, her son's cries ringing in her ears. Glorfindel did not know what to do. He stood by the crib and held a fist around a wooden bar that was gripped tightly by Marcaunon's hand. “We need to protect your _emya_ [mummy], Marcaunon,” he whispered to the child. “Will you help me?”

Lily was facing off the dark Istar when he turned back to them. She was pleaded with the wizard to spare her son, to take her life in his place, though Voldemort would have none of it. As he cast his curse, Glorfindel mustered all feeling of protection and safety he could to Marcaunon. 

Glorfindel could not contain his defeated cry as he saw a small shield appear directly in front of Marcaunon. It was not large enough to reach Lily, nor was it strong enough to stop the spell of a determined Istar power by so much hate. The golden-haired warrior fell to his knees when Lily fell to the green light, his helplessness taking over him at having to witness the death of two people he had come to care so much for.

Voldemort had not stopped though. He took a step closer to the crib. “So you are the one to defeat me, are you?” he laughed incredulously. “What will they say when they find you as dead as your parents, little Harry Potter?”

His blood was on fire in his veins as he saw the Istar raise his wand to kill the last of the once cheerful home's inhabitants. Marcaunon was crying for his _emya_ [mummy], his _fea_ [soul/spirit] screaming at Glorfindel to wake her up.

It was with the first glint of green from the wand that Glorfindel bellowed his rage at the Istar, his hand suddenly solid around Marcaunon's as a burst of white light emanated from where the killing curse met with the _pen-neth's_ [young one] forehead...


	2. Why We Do What We Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Lord of the Rings, not Harry Potter and make no money from either fandom.  
> Notes: I had every intention of writing some form of ritual that would either summon the Valar, or indicate an answer for Fin in some way. Apparently the Valar had other ideas. At this rate, random characters are going to take over the story to the point where I no longer have any more knowledge of the damn plot than any other reader! I need character control :P

 

“He is the keeper of my _fea_ [soul/spirit], and he is in danger,” Glorfindel confessed to Elrond in a voice that spoke of wonder and determination.

The elven lord could feel his own heart clench when he thought back to his _hervess mell_ [dear/beloved wife]. He stood from his seat and wandered over to the side of the courtyard that overlooked the beautiful lands surrounding Imladris. Flowers were well in bloom this morn, he thought absently as the birdsong and the sweet smell of his gardens surrounded him, though not even its beauty could prevent the path of his thoughts...

Celebrían was long gone from these shores, a product of orcish raids. She had been visiting her parents, a trip she had made countless times between Imladris and Lothlórien over their centuries together. There had been no reason, then, to have her accompanied by more than the regular guard company.

It was their _iôneth_ [sons] that had found her. He deeply regretted that he had not accompanied her, though she had not asked it of him. He regretted that it had not been him to find her. No _hên_ [child] should have to find their _naneth_ [mother] like that. While none could know that the last time would be different, to his mind, it still did not absolve him of the guilt he continued to feel at the treatment she had received at their hands.

She had not blamed him, yet she had. Such was the nature of those so physically and mentally wounded. With all of his knowledge, with all of his skill, he could heal her body, but he could not take those memories from her. He could not take the fear and the helplessness, nor the irrational feeling that her husband could have saved her from them, if only he had been there. If only he hadn't been dealing with other matters. If only...

He could not blame her, and often wished that he had sailed across the sea at her side. But it was, again, a matter of having other responsibilities. It had pained him to admit that while his _hervess mell_ [dear/beloved wife] was indeed the other half of his _fea_ [spirit/soul], as the Lord of Imladris, he did not belong to himself and thus was still needed on these shores until one of his _hîn_ [children], or theirs, was able to take his place.

As the daughter of the great Lord and Lady of Lothlórien and as _naneth_ [mother] to three growing elves, she had known and well understood his choice. Yet a small part of her had not understood and had wished for him to join her. Admittedly, he had not understood his own choice at times, wondering why he was still here and not at his wife's side.

It was why he gave Glorfindel's choice the respect that it deserved. It was not the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower that knelt before him. Nor was it the protector of the royal line. This was the great Balrog Slayer of whom tales were sung, dating back to the days when Gondolin was his home, when it was in his blood. Kneeling before him was the fierce protector that had perished for the survival of his home and his people. 

There was no question that Elrond would support his _mellon_ [friend] in his quest. He only wondered what would happen should the _Valar_ not be willing to grant Glorfindel this boon...

“There is darkness taking our lands, but this is a joyous occasion Glorfindel,” Elrond moved back to the warrior and cupped his firm cheek to bid him rise, which he finally did. “I had not heard of the birth of an elfling recently. From where does he hail?”

Glorfindel met his gaze with a pained look. “He is not of these lands, _mellonamin_ [my friend]. It is a strange place, his homeland, and I have only met him in dreams.”

The Lord of Imladris considered this. “It is not unheard of,” Elrond mused. “You connection must be deep indeed. Have you considered that the _Valar_ have already given you their blessing in the form of these dreams?”

“I have,” was Glorfindel's reply. “But I would hear it from them. I cannot forsake the protection of one line, to protect another of my choosing. Knowing my _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] is a _ann_ [gift] of its own and I am not so full to bursting with myself to believe the _Valar_ are granting me all that _guren_ [my heart – S] desires without challenge.”

Elrond sighed at his _mellon_ [friend]. “You have done much for your people, for _our_ people, Glorfindel. Can you not accept that you are being rewarded for your service?”

“I will accept it,” he stated firmly, “when I know that it is mine to accept.”

The _peredhil_ inclined his head and sent his friend a small, mischievous smile. “Would that I could see you with this babe, _mellonamin_ [my friend]. I remember well the trouble caused to you by my _iôneth_ [sons] and _iell_ [daughter].

“ _Fatanion_ ,” Elrond heard Glorfindel mutter [sons of hell] and laughed. “My Marcaunon is _ainu_ [holy one/angelic spirit – Q].

“Indeed,” the lord continued to laugh with great mirth. “Ruler of the house? We shall see what kind of _ainu_ [holy one/angelic spirit – Q] he grows into!”

* * *

“Will you be seeking a way to journey to your _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit]? Elrond asked his _mellon_ [friend] as they moved from the courtyard to the library.

Glorfindel responded in the negative. “There is not enough time to look for a way to move between worlds. He is in danger now and time moves faster there.”

“I shall ask Erestor to look for a way, should you provide him enough detail of that world,” Elrond offered. “What will you do should the _Valar_ not grant you what you seek?”

Glorfindel had not wanted to think about it. “I would ask that you allow me to stay close to Imladris so that I may sleep long and deep each night, _mellonamin_ [my friend].”

As they stepped into the library, Elrond gave his companion a solemn look. “This is in my power to grant you, and so shall you have it...if the _Valar_ do not allow your requested _post_ [pause/halt].”

“Greetings, Elrond,” came Erestor's calm voice from behind him. The Lord of Imladris turned to face his fellow scholar.

“Erestor,” he acknowledged. “Have you time to aid us?”

“Of course, _hîr nín_ [my lord],” he granted, then took a few steps toward a shelf to return the text he had been reading before turning back to the two Eldar. “What is it that you need?”

Elrond glanced back to Glorfindel, who calmly explained, “I have need to speak with the _Valar_. It is a matter of great importance.”

The dark-haired elf raised an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “And you cannot simply pray to them like ever other elf on Middle-Earth?”

“Erestor,” was all the warning he would get from Elrond.

Glorfindel clenched his teeth, but continued. “I have need of them to... _leithian_ [release] me from my service to the line of my king for a short time.”

The other elf looked at him mockingly. “Have you something better to do, perhaps, Glorfindel?”

“Enough! Can you help us or not?” Elrond's eyes were narrowed dangerously at his kinsman. He should have known better than to ask something of Erestor when in aid of a personal matter. The elf's cutting sense of humour was deeply unsettling when it came to matters of the heart.

Erestor smirked. “You have no need of me to do this. If you are unable to farspeak with the _Valar_ , yourself, Elrond, then I would advise that Glorfindel speak with Lady Galadriel. You both are proficient in Quenyan, I take it?” he finished unnecessarily.

Elrond turned to his _mellon_ [friend]. “I had not thought it possible to connect with the _Valar_ ,” he confessed. “Though I have had no need of it in the past.”

“I bid you converse with Manwë, the Elder King, who returned me to these shores with purpose, or with Lórien, Master of Dreams and Visions,” Glorfindel decided. “Should this not be to your liking, I will brave the road to Lothlórien and Lady Galadriel.”

“Do not discount me before I have chance to make the attempt, _mellonamin_ [my friend],” Elrond laughed. “Come! Let us take our leave and choose our words wisely before we anger the _Valar_ in our haste.”

The two elves left Erestor to his texts and parchment to discuss more serious things.

* * *

“You seek audience with Manwë, _peredhil_ [half-elf],” came the most beautiful voice he had heard in an age when the two returned to the courtyard. Often would they converse while surrounded by the peace of the gardens found there.

Both Elrond and Glorfindel sought the source of the voice. They were met with a burst of joyful laughter, more perfect than the first light of _Anor_ [sun]. Birdsong accompanied the laughter and Glorfindel looked about the garden curiously. He had not taken note, earlier, that the flowers lining the courtyard looked more beautiful this day, that the birds who lived in Imladris were singing in harmony.

He remembered that perfect voice. “ _Vánatari_ [Queen Vána] ó the Blossoming Flower, ” he whispered in an awe-filled greeting. She would not be seen by them, he knew. When she took form, the _Vala_ was beauty personified and very distracting.

They heard the fond smile in her return. “Glorfindel ó _Vánamar_ [House of Vána]. My Golden Flower.” He could feel her attention turn to his _hîr_ [lord]. “And Elrond ó Imladris. You hold much beauty here. I have spent many a peaceful moment here over the centuries...among the golden flowers.”

Elrond recalled, then, that she and her husband, Oromë, often spent time away from Aman and the other _Valar_ , in favour of the blossoms and forests of Middle-Earth. Vána, in particular, held a great love of golden flowers and was known to dwell in gardens that were filled with them.

“It has been long since I was last gifted with your presence, _tarinya_ [my Queen],” Glorfindel bowed his head once, respectfully, though he could not see her.

“My Golden Flower,” came the voice, as if speaking to a favoured child. “I have kept watch over you since you left our shores so long ago. You have used our gift to you well, _quenlaurëa_ [golden one], and have held to that which you promised Manwë.”

Both elves were silent. Her words held praise, yet the _Valar_ did not speak of such things lightly. They would await her indulgence.

Her tone turned solemn as she continued. “I grew curious, _lótenya_ [my flower], when I saw your distraction, many moons ago. I sought to know the cause and so entered your dreams...”

Glorfindel did not move. He could not. He dared not hope, nor dared he despair. Before this day was through, he would likely have an answer, if only he but waited a little longer.

“I entered your dream realm and witnessed the visions from Lórien and the ties binding you to your Marcaunon, granted you by Vairë,” her sweet voice had softened in the retelling. “It is a very tangled weave she has bestowed upon you this age, _lótenya_ [my flower], though it was not done out of spite. I have asked Vairë to speak to Manwë, as it was she who put you on this delicate path that would see a lesser elf forsake his vow to the Elder King completely.

“But you are no lesser elf, _lótenya_ [my flower],” praise and joy in her voice as both Glorfindel and Elrond stood patiently, listening. “You are, as ever, the pride of _Vánamar_ [House of Vána], seeking to balance the will of Eru with the demand of your _fëa_ [soul/spirit]. The weave of destiny, of Vairë, is not one known by the Elder King, and so while gifted by the _Valar_ , you continue to be held by your vow to him. 

“We will see this rectified,” she continued, her certainty reassuring him. “Sleep this night, Glorfindel. An answer you will have by _Anar's_ [sun – Q] early light. _Erutieldë, lótenya_ [Eru guide you/put you on your path, my flower].”

“ _H_ _antalyë_ _órenyava, tarinya,”_ was his honest reply [my heart thanks you, my Queen]. And it was with this heartfelt gratitude that Glorfindel bowed his head low for a moment before leaving the courtyard, having the distinct impression that _Vánatari_ [Queen Vána] wished to converse with Elrond privately. 

* * *

Elrond was uncomfortable in the Vala's presence, though he yet stood there, surrounded by the blooming flowers, the uplifting birdsong and the warmth of Anor [sun].

Her love of his _mellon_ [friend] was apparent and yet she wished to speak to him. “You are favoured by Nienna, _vinyahîr_ ,” was her gentle offering [young lord]. “Do not be afraid. Though it is not often spoken outside of Valinor, we all have those we watch over.”

Nienna was known as the Lady of Mercy among the _Valatári_ [Vala Queens]. She who weeps tears of pity and of healing. “Is it not my duty to share my gift with those who are in need of it?” he asked rhetorically. “I do it not to seek favour, though it is welcome.

There was an air of solemnity from Vána, he know. “I speak not of your healing acts for the peoples of Middle-Earth, though Nienna approves greatly. No, it is of your _verimelda_ [beloved wife] that I speak. You would ask of her?”

She had the right of it, he acknowledged. Elrond had intended to speak to Manwë of her, had he the chance. “I would, _Vánatari_ [Queen Vána], that I may know of her since she left these darkened shores.”

“Nienna was moved to see to her when your melda [beloved] crossed the sea,” she confided. “You are worthy in her eyes, your best efforts did you give to she who bore you _sén_ [children], though the wounds to her _fëa_ [soul/spirit] were beyond your gift.”

“I could not have prevented it. I know this,” he murmured sadly. “But I would have taken her pain...her torment...had the Valar but allowed me.”

“And yet you did not journey with her to the undying lands,” she pointed out needlessly and without judgement. “She resides across the sea, without her _venno_ [husband], without her _sén_ [children]. Like Glorfindel, you would choose the will of Eru over your _órë_ [heart].”

“Glorfindel has not chosen thus,” Elrond's heart gave a painful clench at his own observation. “He has sought to find a path that will satisfy both.”

“He has sought this path, yes,” she admitted, again without judgement. “Though it is yet to be decided. Do you think less of your choice? Could you have found another path for your _verimelda, vinyahîr_ [beloved wife, young lord]?”

He stood there in the way rays of the afternoon, surrounded by all of the beauty that was the Vala's to command and thought long and hard. It was something he had considered at length, and on many occasions, since the journey of his _hervess_ [wife], but in the face of this question from a higher power, he retraced his path one last time.

“ _Fó, Vánatari_ ,” he answered decisively [no, Queen Vána]. “I am needed here. Had she not travelled across the sea, it would have selfishly been for my benefit alone, as the wounds to her _fëa_ [soul/spirit] were as _hloima_ [poison]. Do you know of her, _Vánatari_ [Queen Vána]? Know you how she fares?”

“Nienna was moved to see to her health, _vinyahîr_ [young lord], as I said, though it was Estë who healed her _fëa_ [soul/spirit]. The time will come when you will be reunited,” she informed him. 

“She is at peace, then,” he was content with this. “It is as I hoped, when she fled to the undying lands. When I an no longer needed here, I will return to her for the rest of our days, if it is her wish.”

“Your _verimelda_ [beloved wife] is far from at peace,” came the Vala's words, her tone full of humour. “Once healed, she took to watching her friends and family in a small pond in the gardens of Lórien, often plaguing the other Valar with rebukes, cleverly disguised as helpful suggestions, as to how best to 'guide' the fate of Middle-Earth.”

Elrond rose an incredulous eyebrow. “That...does not sound like my Celebrían,” he offered hesitantly. “Soft-spoken is the Lady of Imladris, her tongue only sharp in the raising of our _iôneth_ [sons], headstrong and troublesome as they were.”

The Vala's laughter was infectious. “I do not wonder from whom they inherited this trait! The Evenstar could also be described thus,” she told him.

“My Arwen is indeed headstrong, yet she minds her father well,” he denied, pride underlying his tone.

“You _are_ amusing, _vinyahîr_ ,” was her reply [young lord]. “Time will tell, indeed. Though I would have you know that your time here is nearing its end. Yours and many others. The time of Man approaches.”

“ _Vánatari_ [Queen Vána], you tell me much that I would have trouble believing from one not of the Valar,” he informed her with no small amount of confusion. “Though I have seen strength and great potential in sons of Men, I have not seen that same greatness in their people. They are weak-minded and headstrong. They may offer kindness to one of their own, yet immeasurable cruelty to another. I cannot see what you see in them.”

“It is true that they are a complex people,” she agreed, with a hint of smile in her words. “They would war with one another in one moment, but fight together as one in the next. The same could be said of all peoples across these great lands, _vinyahîr_ [young lord]. As it will always be with children. They only need a common goal to grow and stand strong.”

“A catalyst approaches, then,” he reasoned. “A war brews...”

“As you were well aware,” she reminded him.

Elrond looked out over his lands from the courtyard that had stood witness to so many life-altering decisions. “The time of the Elves is ending...” he murmured needlessly. “Does it end with our lives...or with our deaths?”

It was something to ponder, rather than a question posed to the Vala, though she still answered him. “That is up to you.”

He took his seat, still looking out over Imladris without really seeing. “Is this why you are here? To prepare us for our final journey?”

“I am here to watch over _lótenya_ [my flower] and dwell amongst your beautiful, golden blossoms,” she informed him with a joyous laugh. “Though I will confess that I am also here for Nienna.”

“I do not understand,” he replied.

There was sadness to her tone this time. “ _Vinyahîr_ [young lord], it was not only your _verimelda_ [beloved wife] whose _fëa_ [soul/spirit] needed tending. After all, were you not also wounded by the torment inflicted upon her?”

With those final parting words, the garden around him dimmed almost imperceptibly and the birdsong was no longer quite so lyrical to his ears. She had done what she came to do and was now gone.

* * *

In his rooms, Glorfindel ó Gondolin sat on the edge of his bed, fingering the sword that rarely left his side. Like its possessor, it was of Gondolin in origin and beautiful to behold, a single stone fixed into the handle, giving birth to the vines that signified the Golden Flower crest.

It had been gifted him by Oromë, husband to Vána, upon his leaving Valinor to return to Middle-Earth. Great respect they held for one another and much did they have in common. The sword was as his arm, a part of him, and one he relied on heavily. 

Warmth surrounded him gently. “My Golden Flower,” came the now-familiar greeting. “Still so troubled.”

He said nothing, though he stood his sword against the wall to the head of his bed and laid himself down and stared above him. After a moment, he turned his head back to where his sword gleamed.

“There is no shame in needing your talisman, _quenlaurëa_ ,” was her counsel [golden one].

“It can do nothing in the land of dreams,” he stated quietly. “I am without weapon in the defence of _fëanya pia_ [my little soul/spirit].”

“It is _your_ talisman, _lótenya_ [my flower], no matter its origin,” she chose her words with kindness and purpose. “It can do for you as little, or as much, as is needed.”

_Give him no false hope,_ tarinya _[my Queen]_ , came the mental rebuke from her husband, Oromë. _It is but a sword, albeit one forged by the hands of Aulë._

_It is imbued with my blood,_ she told him mischievously. _Where I go, wondrous things may follow..._

She smiled to herself at his mental snort and turned her attention back to her favoured _lótë_ [flower]. “Hold it close and keep it with you always, my Golden Flower. When you feel weak, it will hold strength. When all is dark, it will bring light. Where life is withered, it will give blossom.”

The Vala watched with soft eyes as her _laurehin_ [golden child] reached for his sword and held it atop his body, tip pointing to the end of the bed, as if in death. “Rest now, Glorfindel ó _Vánamar_ [House of Vána]. Dream of your Marcaunon,” she whispered in his ear and pressed, what passed for, a kiss to his golden locks. “Show me the beauty of your _melmë_ [love] for him and the _fëa_ [soul/spirit] you share.”

* * *

When Glorfindel opened his eyes in the dream realm, he stood inside the living area of a dwelling somewhat smaller than the one Lily and James had shared. There was not much colour or warmth to his eyes and he wondered where he and Marcaunon were. In point of fact, he just wondered of Marcaunon.

He frowned when he heard no childish laughter, nor any sound at all. He felt not the wave of warmth that signified a greeting from his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] and his concern grew. “Marcaunon?” he called out.

Glorfindel spun around at a tearful, muffled whimper that seemed to originate nearby the stairs. “ _Pen-neth_ [young one], where are you?” 

There was crying then. “Fin?” came the confused voice of his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit]. It was followed by the shaking of the handle of a small door beneath the staircase. “Fin!”

He could hear tears in his name and it tore at him. Glorfindel moved through the door and into a tiny space that barely allowed him entry, even as a 'spirit'. On a raised platform sat Marcaunon's carrier, with the child strapped in it and covered with the blanket Lily and James had so lovingly chosen for him at the market seller the day he had first started dreaming.

He voiced a harsh cry of denial when he saw the blemish on his _fëa pia's_ [little soul/spirit] face that spoke of a heavy hand. The golden warrior reached out as if to soothe and was rewarded with a pained flinch. “Who has done this?” The question was softly spoken and full of anguish.

“Fin,” was all his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] would say, but it was tearful and thick with confusion.

It was at that moment he realised that he could not properly feel his bond with Marcaunon. It still existed, but was not pulsing between them, full of life and energy. When he drew on the bond, he encountered some form of barrier. It was then that he grimly recalled how his last dream-walk had ended...

_When the eerily green light of the curse met with Marcaunon's flesh, a blinding white light overtook the room. He closed his eyes tight in defence as he heard a high-pitched scream of soul-wrenching pain from the dark Istar. When he could open his eyes again a moment later, he could no longer feel Marcaunon's tiny hand beneath his and the dark Istar was a pile of ash on the floor in front of him._

_He turned to look at the_ pen-neth _[young one] when the pained cry of the babe broke through to him. Glorfindel winced in sympathy at the sight of the bleeding cut on his forehead that looked somewhat like a bolt of lightening. Despite Marcaunon's obvious physical pain and all else he must be feeling at the death of his_ ememelda _[beloved mother], the golden warrior was greatly relieved that his_ fëa pia _[little soul/spirit] was, in fact, not dead and remained largely unharmed._

_Glorfindel wondered at the injury, though, and moved closer to make sure it was not serious. He knew not if he could still touch Marcaunon's skin, but when his fingers were but a hairsbreadth from encountering blood he was thrown from his dream-walk and awoke in his bed,_ Anor's _[sun] light fading from the sky. He had quickly dressed and sought out the Lord of Imladris..._

He had not awoken naturally, he realised suddenly, also recalling that he had not really felt Marcaunon's emotions then either. Had the light that had saved his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] from certain death been their connection? Had it been weakened by such a feat? They would have to wait and see, he decided. There was nothing that could be done until he knew more.

Standing over the teary child in the cramped little space, Glorfindel began to softly sing one of the songs that he had heard Lily often sang to Marcaunon from the time he was in the womb.

_Lullaby and goodnight, with roses bedight,_  
With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed,  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed,  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed.

_Lullaby and goodnight, thy mother's delight,_  
Bright angels beside my darling abide,  
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast,  
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast1.

Though his voice held not the same soft, sweet notes of Marcaunon's _ememelda_ [beloved mother], the babe slowly settled. Glorfindel continued to sing the song until his tiny eyes drifted shut in comforted sleep. “Sleep well, _pen-neth_ [young one]. I will be by your side,” he whispered, though he could not promise more than that. He yearned to wonder the house to find out more of this dwelling and Marcaunon's carers, but dared not leave him for even a moment.

To his mind, barely two days could have passed since the death of Lily and James. He could not conceive of who had been given care of his Marcaunon and would yet treat him in such a way. He knew not how he could contact Albus, as the only Istar, to his knowledge, that would be able to communicate with him.

While still gazing at his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit] with concerned eyes, he absently toyed with the hilt of his sword, which he seemed to have carried across with him in his dreams. Glorfindel did not know of how literal _Vánatari's_ [Queen Vána] words were and how much was placating. He suspected he would find out in time, but in truth, there was also much strength in one's will, when enough desperation, or even faith and hope, was powering it.

_Glorfindel ó Gondolin_ , he heard in the back of his mind. _There is much to speak of._

He stilled at the mental projection. Manwetur _[Lord Manwë]?_

The voice continued, which he took as confirmation. _The Valar have gifted you with much, yet have not considered you in all things,_ Vánalótë laurëa _[Golden Flower of Vána – Q]. What would you have of me?_ Was the Elder King's question. _I would hear it from you._

Glorfindel did not hesitate in his response. _I would see to the protection of my_ fëa pia _[little soul/spirit], though not at the expense of the line of Eärendil._

_What would you have of me?_ The Elder King repeated patiently, and not unkindly. Indeed, Glorfindel had not yet given his answer.

_I would ask of you_ lerya _[release/set free], so that I may see to Marcaunon,_ he told the Vala. _He is but a babe and cannot see to himself...shadows follow him. Five cycles in the passing of Middle-Earth will see him grown in the eyes of his_ emel's _[mother] people._

_And what of your vow to me?_ He was asked. _What of_ Eärendilmar _[House of Eärendil]?_

_I cannot ask another to see to my duty,_ Glorfindel spoke half to himself, turning briefly from the sleeping babe to stare at the walls suffocating them. _Yet I cannot see to it myself. I would not see_ Eärendilmar _[House of Eärendil] unprotected. Elrond believes that war approaches._

_The peredhil sees little, yet it is enough,_ Manwë admitted. _War approaches quickly, so that I may not give you five cycles free of your vow. Would that I could,_ Vánalótë laurëa _[Golden Flower of Vána]._

Glorfindel closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, though not in anger. It was helplessness he felt. It had been his choice to give his vow to Manwë and protect the line of Eärendil. It was a duty he saw to gladly. Only now was there something that brought him both great joy, and terrible sadness. The swiftness of the approaching war would likely not allow him to keep to his alternative plan to remain close to Imladris and rest at every free moment in the effort to watch over his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit].

The compassionate voice of Manwë interrupted his distressed thoughts. _Though five cycles I cannot give, I did not say I could give nothing, Gondolinian._

His eyes flew open and he tried to steady his suddenly racing heart as the Vala continued. _In five cycles, the war will have taken its toll. You will be needed,_ quenlaurëa _[golden one], and so will your_ fëa pia _[little soul/spirit]. The return of his line to Middle-Earth was woven by Vairë long before it had left your realm. Never has the Vala woven a more intricate web of destiny._

_Four cycles you may have,_ he informed the golden-haired warrior. _Should those of_ Eärendilmar _[House of Eärendil]not be in mortal peril._

Glorfindel was momentarily taken aback when a glow about his sword sought his attention. Eärendilmar _[House of Eärendil] is now bound to your weapon,_ Manwë informed him. _Should their path lead them into a danger they cannot themselves face, your sword will call an end to your time here and bid you to their side. In your sleep, your physical form will not be of your own. It will be as in death, still, and without decay, nor in need of nourishment, until it is possessed of you once more._

_And should the danger pass, will I be returned to Marcaunon's side?_ He asked of the Vala.

_This is not certain,_ was the Elder King's apologetic response. _I will inform_ Eärendilmar _[House of Eärendil] of this, and the need of added caution for a time._

Though the Balrog Slayer indeed felt rich in the gifts and concessions bestowed upon him by the Valar, he would know the truth of Marcaunon's tormentor and spoke of such to Manwë.

He could almost hear a sigh coming from the Vala. _The Valar have little power in this realm, Gondolinian. We can watch and sometimes influence the weave here, save for that of our own, which we still hold dominion over, like your Marcaunon and the one that birthed his line. We must sit and wait until we are able to take advantage of some small rift in the weave to have our Eru's will done. Your presence here is proof enough of this. It will take time for you to understand, but you will be able to ensure that what was done here does not do him ill and take him from his path._

His acquiescence was all he gave the Elder King. _I will see it done_ , he vowed. _He deserves no less._

_One last thing will you be granted,_ Vánalótë laurëa _[Golden Flower of Vána]. The babe will have little joy in his time in this dwelling that is not borne of you. You are not able to interact with this realm as you would our own, though we grant you feeling of touch between you and Marcaunon. As part of the bond between your fëar_ [souls/spirits] _, you would feel any touch as it existed, though in truth it is but a fabrication._

Glorfindel held some confusion at this. _We would touch, yet not?_

_You have the right of it. You may see and feel as if there is connection between you, though it is as it ever was. You are still between realms. It is for the comfort of you both. No elfling should grow without the warmth and comfort of a loving embrace,_ Manwë remarked sadly.

_Would this familial bond sway the one of our_ fëa [soul/spirit]? Glorfindel asked with some small measure of concern, though he was put to rest a moment later.

_It would not,_ was the definitive response. _His_ emel's _[mother] death and the love she held for him was imprinted on him. Always will he remember her and everything that she and his_ atar _[father] were to him. Of this you need not worry._

_I will be this for him,_ Glorfindel stated.

_You must first re-establish your bond,_ quenlaurëa _[golden one],_ he was told in no uncertain terms. _It is muted by another, one that was forced upon the babe with the defeat of the dark Istar._

_It is not a weakening from overuse as I suspected, then?_ He noted with concern.

_It is not. Though the second bond was able to be established for that reason,_ Manwë informed him. _Your connection manifested itself and was strong enough to give significant protection, resulting in a temporary void in the soul. What little that still remained of the dark lord was able to take advantage and lodge itself there. You must find a way to reaffirm your presence within the elfling without endangering him and you must do it quickly. This home will not be a kind one, I fear._

_Why?_ Glorfindel stressed the word with pain and glanced again to the darkening mark on his _fëa pia's_ [little soul/spirit] face. _How could they do this?_

_They fear that which is different,_ was the Vala's disappointed reply. _They do not care to know better..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Brahm's Lullaby


	3. Innocence Lost, Innocence Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Lord of the Rings, not Harry Potter and make no money from either fandom.

 

_And so the Balrog Slayer did not wake from his dreams that night...nor the next. As he began his time on Earth, the Valar told of how Glorfindel ó Gondolin would protect his_ fëa pia _[little soul/spirit], and how he anxiously awaited the day_ Eärendilmar _[House of Eärendil] had need of him..._

The passing of time normally held little concern for elves, save when it was marked by darkness. It lived and breathed in this neat little dwelling, focused on its youngest resident from many fronts. If one were to come in from the street, they would no doubt believe this to be the home of a nice little family of three: a hard working father; a devoted wife and mother; and their loving son. More picturesque a home you would not have found on Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

But as most are no doubt aware, there is no such thing as a perfect family. There are simply families that hold secrets closer to their chests than others. If you peeked beneath the shining surface that masked the Dursleys, you would certainly find them no exception.

Vernon Dursley was indeed hard working. He strove to provide the best for his dear wife and their growing son. It was unfortunate that a small bump in the road of their lives had presented itself in the form of his wife's nephew, the only child to her estranged sister.

Petunia Dursley née Evans was indeed a devoted wife and mother. When she had married Vernon, her life was perfect. He had a promising career and wanted her to keep their home in order and raise the children that they planned to have, which was all very reasonable and acceptable to her. She could spend her days basking in the envy of all the other women that had to work to help supplement their households and send their children off to be minded by a stranger. Yes, Petunia's life was perfect...until the day her sister got herself blown-up.

Dudley Dursley could loosely be described as a loving son. It was easily assumed since he was always seeking his parents' attention and begging them to pick him up, as if needing the comfort of their embrace. Really, he was just spoiled and had them at his beck and call. None of this changed when his aunt died and his cousin came to live with them. In fact, Dudley barely noticed there was anyone there but his parents for awhile...

Scratching the shining surface that was the Dursley's would move you, though not with pride and certainly not with joy. They were not good people. They were petty, cruel and vindictive. There was darkness in them. Darkness bred of prejudice, of ignorance, and of fear.

There was a fourth and fifth resident of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, though it could be counted on one hand the number of people who were aware of that. There was darkness in them. Though in comparison, it was darkness bred of experience, of injury inflicted by those who sought to diminish the intense light of their bright souls. Their presence was not to be recognised for a number of years, yet still did they reside there...

* * *

Inside the house, Glorfindel stood behind where Marcaunon was seated in the high-chair that his cousin refused to occupy, less he scream the roof down, eating the softened vegetables that the child-orc had discarded in favour of cut up bits of bacon and egg from his mother's breakfast plate.

The Balrog Slayer looked upon the scene with disgust. It had become an almost ever-present state of being since the morning after his appearance almost a month ago. It had been of little comfort to him, that first morning, to discover that Marcaunon was only kept in the cupboard space while the family slept on in their well-furnished rooms. 

When the horse-faced woman opened the door to retrieve his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit], he had noticed her brief pause at her first glimpse of the angry bruise colouring the babe's face and what could have passed for a flicker of sadness when she gazed into his wide green eyes. Then her face hardened and she snatched the carrier from the cupboard with Marcaunon in it and took him into the living room.

With deft hands, she quickly changed the child and returned him to the carrier and carted him into the kitchen and joined her family at the table, where her young son was in a temper at not being seated in his parents' lap, flinging bits of his much-loathed, chopped-banana breakfast onto the floor. “Ah, Pet,” Vernon greeted his wife from his seat at the kitchen table with an indulgent grin, pointedly ignoring the other child whom she sat in his carrier at her feet. “Our Dudders is a growing boy! He needs to put some meat on him. Now that he has all of his teeth, how about some bits of sausage instead of that banana?”

Glorfindel sneered at the man's own obvious preference for meat over fruit for breakfast, well observed in his over-large shape. Hard eyes watched the woman take what remained of her son's banana and put the bowl in Marcaunon's lap. “Eat,” she told the boy harshly before fetching a sausage out of the cooling pan on the stove and cut it into manageable pieces for her darling Dudley. 

“There you go, my baby,” she crooned to the much happier blond child as she plucked him out of his seat and into her lap where she fed her son with a child's fork, not wanting him to miss out on even one piece by dropping it. “Is my little Dudders enjoying his nice, warm breakfast sausage?”

At her feet, Marcaunon was nervously eating the leftover banana, his gaze darting between her and the other child, shooting longing glances to Glorfindel every so often. “ _Emya_...?” he whispered the word in the golden-haired warrior's direction [mummy]. 

Glorfindel tried to shush him, but the whispered word had been enough to gain the woman's attention. Though spoken in Quenyan, it was close enough to the English 'Ma' that Dudley used for Petunia to interpret it correctly. “My sister is dead, and no thanks to you, you ungrateful brat,” was her biting comment to the tearful child. Carrying her son, she stood and grabbed a baby bottle from the sink and put a bit of milk in it from a carton. She thrust it at him with the command, “Drink this and be quiet. You won't be breaking any of my Dudley's nice cups or spilling milk everywhere.”

Glorfindel focussed all of his rage at the woman, but to no avail. Instead, he crouched down next to Marcaunon in the carrier and murmured to the boy reassuringly. “Eat, _arimelda_ [dearest]. We must keep our _hroar_ [bodies] strong. Your _emya_ [mummy] is gone and her sister...” he indicated to the woman eating at the table, doing her best to ignore the child at her feet. “Her sister is scared and doesn't understand our ways.”

Marcaunon looked up at his _emya's_ [mummy] sister for a moment with bright eyes. He understood being scared. He was scared of the bad man that hurt his _emya_ [mummy] and made her and his _atya_ [daddy] go away. He was afraid of the big man who yelled at him and hurt his face and arms. He wondered if she was scared of the big man, too. He was too scared to ask, though. Not while the big man was in the room to yell at him and hurt him again.

The little boy turned his head back to Fin, but didn't say anything. For now he would eat. He tummy was making growly sounds like his _atya_ [daddy] and he was hungry.

* * *

That evening brought an unwelcome visitor to Privet Drive. Well, unwelcome in the Dursley's opinion. Glorfindel would, indeed, be very grateful to see their guest...

They had just sat down for dinner when the doorbell rang. “Who in blazes would bother us this late in the evening?” Vernon impatiently muttered as he reluctantly put down his knife and fork to answer the door.

The large man scowled when he opened the door to see a man wearing a pointed hat and what amounted to a dress, in his opinion. His gaze immediately went to the street to make sure none of his neighbours were out and about for an evening stroll. “Your kind aren't welcome here. Begone and leave us be.” 

When he tried to close the door, he found himself unable to move it. His eyes narrowed at the wizard who continued to look at him with a pleasant expression. “I told you to leave us! Now release my door so I can return to my dinner!”

“Ahh,” the wizard smiled with hard eyes of his own. “I'm afraid, Mr Dursley, that I find myself unable to do as you ask until I have seen young Harry. I'm sure you understand.”

“I'll not allow you into my home!” Vernon whispered harshly, eyes darting once more toward the silent street. “It's bad enough the boy is here!”

Albus' sigh was weighted. “I see,” he said regretfully. “I shall have to find my own way in then, I suppose.”

With that, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot cast an unhurried _confundus_ [confusion charm] in Vernon's direction. “Why, thank you for inviting me into your lovely home to speak to your nephew, Mr Dursley,” Albus told him cheerfully. “You will likely want to return to your dinner so that I may have a quick word to your wife.”

“Dinner...” Vernon drifted off in distraction. “Yes...I believe I'm hungry.” He slowly moved away from the door to return to the kitchen where his wife and son were eating. 

The wizard stepped into the house and looked around with a critical eye while he followed Vernon at a much slower pace. Just as he reached the kitchen, he heard Petunia's... _dulcet..._ tones.

“Vernon,” she asked curiously, as her husband took his seat. “Who was at the door?”

“Hmm?” he paid her only half of his attention, the rest clearly on his meal. “Oh, the door. Someone wanted to speak to you and the boy.”

“What?” she shrieked, her eyes shooting nervously to the entry of the kitchen just as Albus came into view.

“I apologise for calling so late, Mrs Dursley,” he turned a lovely, bright smile on her, though the hardness in his eyes belied his seemingly pleasant demeanour. “There has been much to see to this past month. However, I would like to see how young Harry is settling in.”

His gaze drifted downwards, to where the young boy in question was again strapped into his almost too-small carrier, faced partially towards the entry, his hands scooping some bits of meat and veggies into his mouth. Although, as soon as his gaze locked onto Albus, he abandoned his meal to beam up at the old wizard with a toothy grin. “Aba!” he greeted warmly, before seeming to shrink in on himself and look with wide, nervous eyes towards Petunia and Vernon.

The still-spry wizard bent over at the waist to grant Harry a genuinely fond grin. “There you are, Harry! And how is your dinner this evening?”

“Yum!” the boy smacked his lips together, then scooped up some greens from his bowl. “Fin...Pea!” came the triumphant explanation.

Albus came to the conclusion that Harry's protector must have been teaching him to identify his food, verbally or by sight. Possibly both. “Very good, Harry,” he chuckled along with the boy while surreptitiously looking about the room for sign of 'Fin'. He caught sight of Fin sitting just behind him with his hands rested on upwardly bent knees just inside the entryway, his view of Harry unobstructed.

Albus made no move to give away the elf's presence, but the tension in his body reduced slightly, allowing Fin the impression that he was a welcome sight.

When the boy went back to his peas, Albus straightened and stared at Petunia. “Where may Harry and I have some privacy? I wish to speak to him about what happened to his parents.”

Petunia pursed her lips, clearly not pleased with having to leave him to wander about her house unescorted, before pointing through the living room toward the staircase. “I have a small sewing room upstairs, the first door at the top.”

He gave her a single nod of acknowledgement before bending down to remove Harry from his carrier, scooping him up and holding him close with one arm. “Now, young man, how about you and I take a little walk? You may bring your peas so long as you don't try to put them in my beard as you once did the carrots your mother gave you last time I visited...” Albus told the boy sternly, though his smile gave him away.

“Peas!” he giggled, looking to the bowl Albus held in his other hand. He placed one of his tiny hands on the wizard's shoulder and another in the white beard to steady himself. “Up!”

“Up, indeed,” came the chuckle. “Off we go then.”

Albus turned on his heel with the child in his arms, noticing that Fin had stood from the floor and was following them. They quickly found themselves in Petunia's sewing room where Albus shut the door behind them and took a seat. He popped Harry on the floor with his bowl of peas before throwing up a ward to mask their conversation from any inquisitive ears outside the room. “Harry, I need to speak with Fin for a moment while you eat your peas, if I may?”

The boy looked up to where the warrior stood. “Fin!” he pointed before shoving several peas into his mouth with the other hand.

“Yes, Fin,” he agreed with a small smile before turning to the elf. “I'm quite relieved that you have returned. I was unsure of what had happened to you since you were not with Harry when Hagrid brought him to me following the attack.” Albus was careful in his words, still aware that Harry was in the room and may have been able to follow some of their conversation.

Fin nodded with solemnity. He gestured to himself and then made a pushing motion. “You were forced away?” At the second nod, Albus continued. “Were you present for the attack? Did you see what happened?” he asked with restrained eagerness.

He could see the pained expression on the elf's face as memories of the event apparently surfaced. Albus was rewarded with a final nod. “I see. That is both unfortunate and pleasing for me to hear...Fin. A assume that is your name, or at least as much of it as Harry can pronounce, I am sure.”

Fin gave him a look that Albus believed to be an indulgent wince, which was quite interesting to witness. He chuckled. “That look tells me that young Harry has butchered, what I would think, is a name you are quite proud of possessing.”

His slightly haughty look was destroyed by the scrunching up of Fin's nose. “Not proud then,” he smiled. “Ahh, well. I hope you don't mind me calling you thus, as I have no other frame of reference.”

The slow nod he received was acceptable. “Now, I am not sure if Lily and James ever made mention of a branch of mind magic called ligilimency?” He observed the thoughtful look on the elf's face before Fin shook his head slowly. “No? Well, it allows the caster to view the thoughts of another. Would you mind terribly if I attempted to view your memories of the event in this manner? I can't be sure that I will be successful, given that you are not physically here for me to cast a spell on, though your spirit can still communicate the thoughts and memories the spell would access for me readily enough. Nevertheless, it can't hurt to try. It will not pain you so long as you do not try to mentally keep me out.”

The warrior elf considered the proposal for a moment before nodding and giving him a questioning look. “Thank you, Fin. If you can think back to just before the attack started, I would like to see what you saw. As it stands, we _believe_ that Voldemort is gone, but as there were no known witnesses to what occurred, we cannot be entirely sure. That scar on young Harry's forehead is full of dark magic. It is very troubling, indeed.”

Fin's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head and glanced down at the boy. Albus wondered if he, perhaps, knew something else that may have some bearing. “If there is anything else you think I should know, perhaps you could keep those thoughts close to the surface so that I may view them as well.”

He received a slow nod as Fin returned his gaze to Albus. “Shall we begin, then?” He watched as Fin seemed to steel himself, then nod. “Relax your mind and think of the events you wish to show me,” he told the elf gently. 

Albus pointed his wand and silently cast the spell. He was gratified to effortlessly slip into the welcoming mind and found himself watching Fin and dark-haired twin elves conversing about the progress of their raids against the orcs. 

_Glorfindel_ they called him. _Golden hair._ He understood the elvish term as Fin did.

In the memory, Albus could feel panic grip the elf, and watched as he made his excuses before going directly to a set of rooms that the wizard believed to be his and quickly settled himself onto the bed. He continued to watch the scene play out as Harry screamed and first James, then Lily, were killed. Albus was curious to note Glorfindel's interaction with Harry, and him calling the boy 'Marcaunon', unsure whether the elvish word was a name, or an endearment. Neither of which was terribly interesting in the face of the shield that had emitted from the boy though...

Ah, yes. Now _there_ was something solid to work with. Albus could almost feel the power coursing between the child and the elven warrior. He could not sense if the power belonged to one or both of them originally. At this point it did not matter, though it was food for later thought. Mere seconds passed before the killing curse found its mark in Harry and Albus was shocked to see the answering white light that blasted the room and decimated Voldemort.

All was calm, then, before Glorfindel moved to touch Harry and was unceremoniously thrown back into his physical body. The scene melted into another and Albus frowned as he recognised the interior of a small storage cupboard underneath stairs somewhere. It was a tight fit, both Glorfindel and Harry's carrier. The wizard wondered where they were. He noticed the angry bruise on the child's face and remembered him to be free of injury, save for the curse scar on his forehead, the night he was delivered to the doorstep of the Dursley residence. He did not like where this observation took him.

The thought faded to the back of his mind as he heard a voice speaking in what he somehow knew to be Quenyan, though it sounded as English to him. He listened as the voice, this higher being as he understood it, explained to Glorfindel that there was a time limit on his presence at Harry's side, though he did not understand the metric of it. He mentally drew back a moment later when reference was made to Voldemort's soul, and a bond that it had forged with Harry. _Dear Merlin..._ he knew what it meant, where Glorfindel did not. It did not bear thinking of now, but would be something to speak with the elf about when he was done here.

The end of the conversation confirmed his earlier suspicions of abuse in the household that Harry had been placed in and Albus was pained to note that while the child was safe from the evils of the wizarding world here, he was not safe from the evils of the muggle one, from his own family. The wizard deeply regretted the necessity that had brought them here, and vowed to do something to temper the abuse before he left this place.

Believing that to be all, Albus was curious to note the memory melting into another. This one seemed to have no real purpose, though, as he watched Sirius Black play with young Harry on the floor, driving little cars around the play-mat Harry sat on with his wand. It saddened him to feel the warmth between the two, knowing the betrayal that must have occurred soon after.

When the memory went dark, Albus withdrew from Glorfindel's mind and sorted through his own thoughts pertaining to everything he had seen. 

“Your homeland is very beautiful,” the wizard remarked as the elf blinked his eyes hard, trying to come back to himself after having someone in his head for a fair length of time. Harry had finished his peas on the floor and was watching Glorfindel curiously. 

“Fin?” Glorfindel sat himself down next to Harry and murmured something to him that must have worked to reassure the boy, since he went back to playing with the now-empty bowl. 

Albus waited for the elf's attention to return to himself before he continued. “From what you've shown me, I do not believe that Voldemort has been permanently defeated,” he told his companion in no uncertain terms, though it pained him to do so. “The implication of the conversation with your 'Manwë' is that Voldemort has accidentally created what is known to my kind as a horcrux; a container to house a fragment of the soul so as to grant a type of immortality. So long as the soul fragment is safely contained and away from the 'main' – if you will – soul portion, a wizard cannot truly die, though they may exist as a spirit upon 'death' until they are able to restore themselves to a physical body.

“Voldemort's soul fragment,” Albus continued, “seems to be residing in that rather remarkable curse scar.”

Albus waited a moment as Glorfindel digested the information. His teeth were clenched at the violation of the boy. “The soul is not such fragile thing, as you may be aware, Glorfindel. A very regal name, by the way,” Albus smirked at the elven warrior who blushed at being called 'golden hair', understanding that Albus' time in his head told of the meaning. 

“One's soul is not predisposed to seeking refuge in another should death not be of their choosing,” he continued without pause. “I would be inclined to believe the child is not the first horcrux Voldemort has made. Given the ease at which a soul fragment was created, I would hazard a guess to say that he was not even the second. Though how anyone would willingly carve pieces out of their soul once, never mind twice, I am unable to comprehend.

“Glorfindel...” Albus halted the monologue for a moment, knowing there was no delicate way to put this. His eyes drifted down to the boy who was using Albus' robes to help him crawl into the wizard's lap. “I am unaware of any method to remove this soul fragment that does not result in the _container's_...destruction...shall we say.”

Albus could only imagine the cry that seemed to be torn from Glorfindel, as he still could hear nothing of the elf's voice. “Take heart in your Manwë's words, Glorfindel,” he interrupted. “I cannot believe that one such as he would direct you to re-establish your soul bond if there was no safe way for you to do so. It is simply a case of finding it. I will do what I can, of course.”

Glorfindel looked grateful and Albus could not imagine being in his position. “Now, you are here for five cycles, yes? Do you happen to know how long that is in years?” The elven warrior held up his hands for a moment, palms open and facing Albus with the fingers on both hands spread, before closing them and opening them again with one palm open and the other showing only the index finger.

“Sixteen years?” he checked. At Glorfindel's single nod, Albus let out a small, relieved sigh. “That is something, then. Once we reaffirm your bond, I shall not have to worry about the boy quite so much. I was disturbed at the glimpse of his life here.”

The elf's accusing look was damning. “Yes, it was I who left him here, though I wish I had a better option...” His musings were cut short as Glorfindel gave him a look and pointed to his head. “I don't understand.”

Glorfindel frowned before indicating first to Albus' head this time, then to his own, then their eyes. “You want me to look into your mind again?” He was met with a slow shake of his head and pointed to his own head and Albus' eyes again and made a hand gesture to his left.

The wizard's bushy eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he considered what the elven warrior was trying to communicate. “Back? Before?” The elf nodded and pointed to Albus' eyes and his own head again. “Something I saw before when I looked into your mind?”

There was an emphatic nod at that statement. “Surely you aren't referring to Sirius Black, Glorfindel?”

The nod was repeated, accompanied by a fist held over his heart for a moment before he pointed to young Harry who was falling asleep, curled up in Albus' lap. “You don't know, then,” the wizard's tone was full of regret and sadness. “Sirius Black was the one who held the secret of Lily, James and Harry's location. Sirius is the one who betrayed them to Voldemort. No...Sirius is where he should be, in Azkaban, the wizarding prison.”

Albus wasn't surprised at the sudden furious look that came over Glorfindel's features, but was startled at the sudden violent shaking of the elf's head and rapid movement of his arms. He was unable to follow the silent means of communication. “Please, slow yourself, Glorfindel.” 

Glorfindel paused at Albus' words. “Now, you are angry at Sirius' actions, yes?” The elf shook his head. Albus frowned, his eyes showing his surprise. “You're not angry at Sirius? Then who are you angry with?”

He was met with Glorfindel's finger pointed in his direction. “Me? I don't understand. Sirius was their secret keeper. I was only the one to suggest they go into hiding, Glorfindel. They had no chance of surviving any other way.”

Again the elf shook his head. Albus was struggling to understand his companion's point of view. “Was there some other way we hadn't considered?” 

Glorfindel shook his head and looked frustrated. Albus was feeling the same frustration, but after a moment of reflecting on the rest of his earlier statement, a cold feeling passed over him. He sucked in a breath and asked another question. The answer that he was both dreading and hopeful of. “Are you saying that Sirius was, indeed, _not_ the secret keeper?”

He witnessed Glorfindel's suddenly peaceful expression, followed by the dreaded, and hoped for, affirmation. “Who, then, Glorfindel?” Albus leaned forward and whispered harshly, furiously, careful not to wake or jostle the now-sleeping Harry. “Who was their secret keeper?”

Albus slipped into Glorfindel's mind then, knowing that it was not an unwelcome intrusion, though sorry for it, all the same...

“ _Peter, we really need you to do this...” Sirius's tone was coaxing as he, James and Peter sat around the kitchen table in Godric's Hollow. “I'll be the first one they come looking for, surely. It's no secret that James and I are joined at the hip most of the time.”_

_Glorfindel was seated in a vacant chair next to Sirius, staring at Peter with suspicious eyes. Both Sirius and James looked at the smaller man without hesitation and with great expectation. Albus could tell that this choice worried Glorfindel._

_Peter looked first at Sirius, then at James, then back to Sirius, as if unsure of who was asking this of him. “What about Remus?”_

_Sirius and James shared a look, then. They were obviously deeply troubled over this. It was James that spoke. “We love Remus, Peter, but we think that Voldemort may be able to get to him through his lycanthropy...”_

“ _I won't take that chance,” Sirius said severely, though his voice broke part way through. “It's James, Lily and Harry's lives that are at stake. I_ can't _take that chance. It has to be you, Peter. There is no one else we trust completely that isn't already in danger.”_

_Peter reluctantly agreed to the plan and stared down at the table top, gnawing at his bottom lip while James called in Lily to perform the charm that would lock the secret of their location in Peter._

Glorfindel did not once take his eyes from Peter, Albus noted. Yes, the elven warrior obviously had grave reservations about this arrangement. Reservations that had been warranted, he agreed, now watching Lily perform the charm as the others stood witness.

“ _Thank you, Peter,” Lily whispered to the smallest of the Marauders, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek before embracing him quickly. “I know it's terrifying, but I'm so glad that we have such good friends as you...”_

Realising there was nothing else notable about the memory, Albus withdrew from the warrior's mind once more. He could not move for a moment. The gravity of the situation was weighing on him. “Sirius is serving a life sentence in the worst prison known to wizarding kind. It will not be easy finding a way to get him out, I fear. Peter was killed by Sirius after the incident at Godric's Hollow. I can only assume that Sirius' temper had hold of him at the time.”

Glorfindel's eyes closed slowly at this revelation. The true culprit was dead, murdered by the one believed guilty of the deed. “I will do what I can, Glorfindel,” was Albus' promise. 

* * *

It was not too long after that Albus descended the stairs with Harry asleep in his arms, Glorfindel a spectre at his back. The trio reached the living room to find Vernon and Petunia watching television, dinner long over and Dudley asleep in Petunia's arms.

The woman stiffened when she noticed Albus and Harry. “Ahh, Petunia, I'm afraid I tired the poor boy out,” his smile was rather strained. “Where is his cot? I wish to put him to bed before I return to Hogwarts.”

“Do not speak of that place in my home,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “You can put him back in his carrier in the kitchen. He will be fine in there.”

“Can an old man not tuck a young boy into his bed?” he questioned. “I assure you, I am well used to doing so, having been a frequent guest in your sister's home.”

Petunia scowled at him. “My sister is dead thanks to your lot. Put him in his carrier.”

Without so much as a blink, Albus slipped into her mind with a silent _ligilimens_ [spell to delve into a person's mind] and saw why Petunia was so insistent on the carrier. “I see. I had hoped that Harry would find at least some semblance of a familial bond in your home, Petunia. I well remember how much you loved Lily...once upon a time.”

“Lily chose your world over her own blood!” Petunia spat at him from her seat, passing the sleeping Dudley to her husband, who was staring up at the wizard interrupting his television-watching, the earlier _confundus_ [confusion charm] doing its job. She quickly stood and stormed over to him, defiance and hatred clear on her face. “From the moment she boarded that train, she was no longer my sister! Now you expect me to take care of a boy I don't want because my _sister_ had the bad taste to get herself _killed_!”

“Lily did not choose to leave you,” Albus told her sadly. “It was simply the path she had to follow. Being magical was not of her choosing, nor was she at fault for making the best of the life she had been given. Just as young Harry will do once his time comes.”

Albus crossed into the kitchen and gently laid Harry into his carrier, careful not to wake him. He conjured a warm blanket for the boy, infusing it with a feeling of love and comfort. When he was satisfied, he straightened himself and turned back to Petunia, who was watching like a hawk, not having moved from her place in the living room. 

“I would strongly advise not taking you grievances with Lily out on young Harry, Petunia,” he told her pleasantly. “You will find that I have little tolerance for those who would... _abuse_...another.”

She allowed her glare to speak for her, her hatred an arrow in his back as he saw himself out.

* * *

Glorfindel wondered if the warning was all the wizard had planned for the moment. He suspected not...he _hoped_ not. Marcaunon already suffered daily at their hands and the elven warrior was loath for it to continue.

_Isil_ [moon] was high when Albus returned. He simply appeared in the entryway, not far from the cupboard where Glorfindel sat with a sleeping Marcaunon.

“Glorfindel?” he heard the call from the other side of the cupboard door. He quickly stepped out and saw Albus standing in the centre of the living room, watching the doorways. Glorfindel noticed that the wizard had not quietened his voice, the reason for this was made known to him a moment later.

“Ah, there you are,” Albus greeted him with a curious look. “What on earth were you doing in there?”

He looked at Albus sadly and guided him to the door of the cupboard. The wizard opened the door and Glorfindel could see the clenching in his jaw as he saw inside the cupboard that was Marcaunon's room, recognising the interior from viewing the elf's memories earlier. “I see.”

Albus quietly closed the door and placed a monitoring charm on the sleeping boy who was, once again, strapped into his carrier. “I placed a heavy sleeping charm on the Dursley's from the street before I popped in,” he informed the elf as he took himself up the stairs, Glorfindel close behind. “We will be undisturbed for what I am about to do next.”

Glorfindel looked on curiously as Albus opened a door at the end of the hall that led to the main bedroom where Vernon and Petunia slept. Thankfully, the couple was clothed in their nightwear, so there were no unwelcome surprises when they finally stood beside the bed.

When Albus faced him, Glorfindel shot him a questioning look. The wizard paused for a moment, as if considering his words before he spoke. “I am a great believer of allowing others to follow their own path, Glorfindel,” he began with a tired sigh. “Be it for good, or for ill. Though, there are occasions, rare as they are, that I feel it necessary to act contrary to those beliefs.

“Though...” he continued. “One might consider that I also believe that no harm should come to a child. So perhaps I am only ensuring that the stronger of my beliefs guides my wand this night.” 

Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow, one that Albus caught with an answering smirk. “Yes, I do believe that we understand one another quite well. In this case, the path that these two _lovely_ examples of human decency are taking would possibly do more damage to the young boy downstairs than Voldemort was able to do with all the magic at his disposal. It is, indeed, unfortunate that he must live here until such time as he can protect himself.

“I had good reason for placing him in this place, Glorfindel,” Albus confided to the elf standing across from him on the other side of the bed. “Before you showed me your memories of what transpired the night Lily and James were killed, I would have said I had the best reason in the world for placing him here. Before they went into hiding, Lily conducted an ancient rite that allowed for anyone of her blood to be protected if she met her end protecting them. A sacrifice born of love, if you will, kept strong by her blood, Petunia's blood...”

Glorfindel glanced down at the woman who slept on, unaware of their presence, nor their discussion. “I fear there is no love to be found here, Glorfindel. Not from Petunia, in any case. It may prove to weaken the protection born of Lily's death. Though the only way to test the theory would be to send a wizard or witch here who bears Harry ill will and allow them to attack.”

The wizard began waving his wand gently over Vernon and Petunia's sleeping forms. “No, I believe this to be the best option for now,” he informed Glorfindel. “At least until we know for sure that Lily's magic is not protecting Harry. In the meantime, I will attempt to have Sirius released, though this may take some time, as I will need evidence greater than my say so.”

The tip of Albus' wand was pulsing with a small blue light. The elf observed curiously, wondering what the wizard was doing to the sleeping couple. When the light faded, Albus continued his monologue. “I have placed a minor compulsion charm on them both. It will prevent the worst of their crimes, but they still will not treat him as family, I fear.”

At Glorfindel's incredulous look, Albus explained his reasoning. “The stronger the charm, the stronger their need to fight it. While muggles generally have little resistance to wizarding magic, I still must return regularly to keep the charm strong. If I am ever delayed and the charm should fail, their behaviour will not have been altered enough for them to suspect interference and take retribution on Harry, as the only magic-wielder present. I am loath to do more at this stage, as there are terrible repercussions to any form of controlling magic.”

With one last glance, Albus led them back downstairs to where Marcaunon still slept. Glorfindel noticed the occasional wand movement as they walked. 

“I perhaps may have also cast a few charms and hexes about the place,” Albus informed him, sporting a rather innocent look. “Petunia may find Harry's current location a little inconvenient. This, of course, may lead to her relocating him to somewhere a little more acceptable.”

There was a look of slight admiration on his face, Glorfindel knew. As Albus was about to leave, he gave his companion one last piece of information. “I will return on the first of every month to reinforce the charms I have placed here tonight. Please do what you can to minimise their emotional impact on the boy, Glorfindel. I will do what I can to provide another solution.”

With that, the wizard disappeared. _Apparition_ [magical teleportation], he believed it was called.

Now that the Dursley's were taken care of, he needed to turn his attention to the soul fragment, or _hó_ [spirit/shadow] as he preferred to call it, that was squatting inside his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit].

* * *

After several weeks of Petunia being inconvenienced by cleaning products and devices that never seemed to be found where she thought she left them, and the baby carrier overnight becoming too small to hold him, Harry was now occupying Dudley's old portable cot in Petunia's sewing room. As promised, Albus had also returned twice to renew the charms on Vernon and Petunia.

On another matter, it had taken some time before he managed to 'tune in' to the _hó_ [spirit/shadow]. He'd heard the term in reference to communication devices, so it seemed an apt description. Manwë's words bid him find a way to reaffirm his bond with Marcaunon without injuring him. 

Thus, his first thought was to see if he could speak with it...but first he needed to gain its attention.

He had tried to speak to it directly, the same way he would Marcaunon. Of course, he quickly realised that it was parasitic in its current form, so was not in possession of Marcaunon's body and would not be able to answer him that way, even was it so inclined. 

Glorfindel's most recent attempt at communication had yielded a result, though it had taken awhile. He had been seeking out a connection to Marcaunon the way he normally would, believing that since it was another bond obstructing their normal one, if he tried to communicate with it directly, as he would Marcaunon, he should be met by the _hó_ [spirit/shadow].

The warrior had been correct in this, though it had been long in the attempt, the _hó_ [spirit/shadow] wary and distrustful of him. Glorfindel would need every ounce of the patience and diplomacy that he was little known for, though was indeed possessed of it.

The _hó_ [spirit/shadow] was a terrified thing, he discovered. It could not communicate with him verbally, in the way Elrond or Lady Galadriel were able. All it could give him were impressions, at least at the moment. Glorfindel had no idea if the _hó_ [spirit/shadow] would eventually be able to exert some influence over Marcaunon's thoughts or actions. The possibility was concerning, but for the moment he needed to concentrate on the task before him.

Glorfindel thought it positive that the _hó_ [spirit/shadow] was acknowledging him, though it was steeped in fear. He would need to heavily consider his next steps, he knew. Truly terrified creatures were the most unpredictable of beings, and required careful handling lest more damage be done to them, and, in this case, possibly to the host.

A tactic such as threats or outright force could serve to push it out. Glorfindel believed the opposite more likely, that the fragment would just burrow deeper into Marcaunon and cause it to want more active influence over him, if not out-right possession.

Instead, he talked to it as he did his _fëa pia_ [little soul/spirit], coaxing it to distrust him less...to distrust Glorfindel's bond with Marcaunon less.

He could almost believe that this fragment of Voldemort's _fëa_ [spirit/soul] was made up entirely of the wizard's fear, which made him wonder if each broken off piece of _fëa_ [spirit/soul] was essentially a copy of its owner, with all thoughts, feelings and beliefs of same, or rather was it an entity all of its own, made up wholly of unwanted memories and emotions. Glorfindel could believe the latter after what he had observed of the _hó_ [spirit/shadow] thus far.

Where fear existed, though, there usually was a seed of courage. Glorfindel wondered if this would hold true of this _hó_ [spirit/shadow] of Voldemort's. Only time would tell...


End file.
